


It's Your Last Shot

by nine_day_queen



Category: Marvel, Spider-Gwen (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 19:01:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3948106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nine_day_queen/pseuds/nine_day_queen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a superhero (heroine?) takes a lot of de-stressing. Especially if your super power involves heightened senses. Especially if you've got a tragic hero, it's hero, backstory.<br/>Surprisingly, unsurprisingly, it doesn't all start when Peter Parker dies in her arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Your Last Shot

**Author's Note:**

> I just want a lot of stories about how Gwen deals without her mother, without any sort of support system. Peter had his friends, even if they didn't know everything. Here, Gwen doesn't even get that. I mean, her own father hates her and wants her hunted down.

 

Delirious, standing atop a roof, holding onto a lightning rod, trying to keep Arthur Parks and his new shocking (hah, puns) from attacking, from attacking others again, from ...  
      Standing atop the Stark Industries tower, Gwen sees Peter again. The green blood in the corner of his mouth, his soft, terrible, shitty, resigned smile. The calloused hand that reached for her, still half-covered in scales. She can taste the spring air, smell the freshly cut grass on the field, feel the soft breeze. She can see Harry standing, gliding, flitting around in circles, laughing dementedly. The sky is bright blue, Peter's eyes are dimming.  
**_I just wanted to be a hero, like you._**  
"I'm so sorry," she wails into the electrical buzzing, as she wills her fried webshooters to work. Please, _**please**_ , just work one more time. "I'm so sorry I failed you," she cries, as Arthur Parks stands before her, human again, for now. This is her shot, her only shot. She just needs to ...  
**_I'm so sorry I didn't save you._**

* * *

She slides into the house in Queens by the second floor window, always open. She peels off her mask and slides down to the floor.  
      There are still a few dirty shirts on the ground, a missing sock, and more than a few textbooks in the mix. Gwen's sure that if she were to lift the paper currently under her left foot, it'd be for his last chemistry test. Aunt May hasn't had the heart to clean it, to change it, as if Peter was going to come back. Sometimes, even Gwen thinks he'll be back. Sometimes.  
But that's ... not true.  
"I thought I heard you," Aunt May says, ten minutes later. "How was it?"  
Gwen takes the cup of tea and shrugs, wincing as Aunt May reaches over to press the ice pack on her swollen eye. "Could have been worse," she offers.  
Aunt May sits on the edge of his bed and smiles tearily. "I'm glad you're okay."  
Gwen sips her tea.  
"Do you have any plans?"  
"I'm free today," Gwen sighs, shaking. "My dad think I'm staying with M.J. for the night."  
"I'll wake you when Ben gets home, then," Aunt May nods, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "We can have a proper meal, the three of us, before your patrol."  
      Gwen nods, her words of dissent stuck in her throat. She always wants to say no. She always wants to stay away. But Queens is safe, is quiet, is his. She can't leave it. She can't leave the Parkers alone. The part that makes Gwen want to stay, it's the same part that reminds her it's just her and Dad now, no mom, no baby brothers, no dad. The spider pulls her back, like Peter's memory pulls her in.  
"I cleaned some of your clothes, in case you want to change."  
"Thank you, Aunt May," she says, half-joking.

* * *

 She recharges at the Parker home in Queens.  
Every week, like clockwork, she stays over Friday evenings.  
No matter what plagues her, she is there, like she is always there every night, patroling New York.  
Cramps? Walk it off during patrol. Exercise is good for cramps.  
Broken leg? People have less than three limbs and can do this. Go on patrol.  
Internal bleeding? Call Mrs. Morales' or Mrs. Reyes' nurses' desk (depending on whose shift) and ask them what to do. Then, walk it off, and continue patrol.  
Depressed? Take the anti-depressants you've been taking since Peter's Accident. Take some water, some tea, and go on patrol.  
Shot? Clean and cover, then patrol.  
Stabbed? Clean and cover, then patrol.

      Still, when Gwen enters the home, the home in Queens, she truly feels at home. She feels loved. Not that she can't feel love at her house. Over there, her father's love is riddled with Spider-Woman hate. Everything is tainted with Spider-Woman hate. To quote Stark, her alter ego and herself are one. She can't ... deal with hearing how she's the reason Peter is dead.  
      Peter is dead. She ... but it wasn't her fault. It wasn't her fault. But it was. No. It was the serum's fault, not Gwen's fault. She didn't make the serum, didn't taint it. Dr. Connors did. Aunt May, she knows it wasn't. Even M.J., who knows more about the story than she should, being a future reporter, knows it wasn't Spider-Woman's fault. Spider-Woman wasn't to blame. Sometimes, even Gwen can force herself to believe the lie.  
      She can hear Aunt May make tea, like she always does for her, the radio playing lowly in kitchen. On a single hand, she can count the places that make her feel loved, truly loved, spider hate included. She doesn't know what that says about her.  
      Gwen sleeps in Peter's old pajamas, in a webbed swing she's fashioned every visit, in the upper corner, when she's more or less content. She sleeps under his desk when she's tired of the world, weary and exhausted. She sleeps under the bed when she feels like she's failed everyone and she wants to be six feet under, wants to trade with Peter. Sometimes she sleeps in the closet, when she lost someone, wasn't quick or good enough.  
Aunt May always finds her, pulls her out, and hugs her.

* * *

"I never had a mother figure, after she left with my brothers," she offers, the day she holds a tiny boy in her hands, his mother gone because of a stray bullet from an overzealous policeman during a riot.  
"Oh?" Aunt May replies, petting her hair. "I never had a daughter figure."  
Gwen lets out a laugh, more strangled and relieved than happy.  
"Ladies, your knight in shining armor has arrived!" Uncle Ben booms from the front door. "I come bearing gifts."  
"Do you need a moment, dear?"  
"I'm fine," Gwen lies, even though she's tired, always tired.  
      It's not a sleep issue, it's a emotion issue. She can't deal with the world. Suddenly, she understands how insignificant she is, her actions, Spider-Woman's actions are, in the grand scheme of things. There could be a war-mongering alien race a few lightyears away. There could be Gallifreyians in the next space quadrant. She doesn't know.  
She couldn't stop it if she tried.

But she'll be damned if she doesn't try.


End file.
